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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29832276">Beat, happy stars, timing with things below</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iomhair/pseuds/Iomhair'>Iomhair</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Assassin's Creed - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BDSM elements, Drabble Collection, M/M, be warned, bloodplay and such</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:15:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,556</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29832276</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iomhair/pseuds/Iomhair</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of my tiny drabbles from tumblr. What can you expect to see here? Hmmm... fights, some blood, a bit of alcohol, the usage of the assassin's gauntlet, references to whipping, D/s undertones, reckless Jacob, needy Jacob, loving Jacob, desperate Jacob. Surprisingly caring Maxwell, who is secretly worries for his brat. I love this ship &lt;3</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jacob Frye/Maxwell Roth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Wicked games</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I find every pleasant spot<br/>In which we two were wont to meet,<br/>The field, the chamber, and the street,<br/>For all is dark where thou art not.</p><p>(c) Alfred Tennyson</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>Jacob knows that he should not be here. He should not come here almost every night. Every time he steps over the doorstep, quietly closing the heavy door, he knows that he leaves something behind. Some part of him that he will never get back. And yet here he is, here is the chilly London night, enveloping him with the welcoming embrace, and here is this impossible man that looks at him as if Jacob was the king of the world.</p>
<p>“Jacob Frye, you are back, - Roth is smirking, slowly walking to him with his arms stretched for the embrace and Jacob’s heart beats ten times faster, - Well done, I can’t be more proud of you, my dear.”</p>
<p>He belongs here, there is no doubt in that at this point.</p>
<p>Jacob smiles widely, not even attempting to hide his happiness. He is willing to do this all over again, go to hell in back just so that he could hear Roth saying it one more time. The cold-blooded Assassin is no more, giving place to someone that Jacob does not know yet.</p>
<p>
  <em>I’ve just killed a dozen men for you. I would do this again, just say a word.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>* * *</em>
</p>
<p>Jacob knows that he should not do it. This is wrong on so many levels, yet when Maxwell kisses him, all the doubts, all of his previous principles are dissipating. Everything seems right, just as it should be. He feels alive, he is free and finally there is no one around to judge him for who he is.</p>
<p>“My beautiful, beautiful boy… – Maxwell touches his back, kisses his tensed shoulders, and Jacob shivers, the restraints are painfully real and his wrists are starting to hurt, - Let me look at you… Just as you are…”</p>
<p>The smell of blood is so distinct, it is now mixed with the scent of good whisky and tobacco and it drives Jacob mad. He screams shortly, feeling the next hit of the whip. Hard one this time. Tears are streaming from his eyes, but Maxwell’s voice is bringing him to safety all over again, after every single hit.</p>
<p>He should not trust this man. Roth is not a friend, Roth is an extremely dangerous lover, Roth is much older than he is. Under no circumstances he should not be in this position of being that unsheathed, that open with this man, yet here they are. He would never admit it, but deep down Jacob knows that if Roth is ever chooses to kill him, he could do it with ease. His slender appearance is extremely deceiving, successfully hiding the years of surviving the rough streets of London. He should not trust this man. But his voice breaks and the stillness of air is disrupted by the sound of the whip.</p>
<p>
  <em>Again. Do it again.</em>
</p>
<p>Jacob can’t see Maxwell, but he knows that his thin lips are now stretched with the approving smile.</p>
<p>* * *</p>
<p>Jacob Frye does not beg, everyone knows that. Yet here he is, laying on the clean sheets, so ready to beg, driven to the point of no return with just a couple of touches. He is young, he is impatient, his blood is almost boiling, and if not for the ropes, he’d be wanking in no time.</p>
<p>But Roth is clearly enjoying the view, catching every sound of desperation that is falling off the lips of his lover.</p>
<p>“Darling… - Maxwell bends over and his gloves smell of leather and gunpowder, making Jacob moan and bend – Patience, my dear. We have just started.”</p>
<p>His voice is hoarse, but there is no threat in it, rather… tenderness and something else. Jacob does not allow himself to think about that. His every nerve is bare, just as he is now. Stripped of all charges, stripped of the self-made crown, stripped of the hard-earned title of the uncrowned king of London streets, here he is – an absolute mess, begging for a hint of a touch.</p>
<p>And Jacob closes his eyes, giving himself completely, leaving nothing for himself, burning like the candles around them, eagerly sharing his passion with Roth, who seems to think that they have all the time in the world.</p>
<p>* * *</p>
<p>The London nights have a special place in his heart, oh, they always had. The smell of rain and grass, smell of oil and wood, smell of old pubs and heavy machinery. Jacob does not understand how he could live without all that, without the fuss and whirl of the huge city that now seemed to be the center of the whole world. Without sheer adrenaline, without scratches on his palms and bruises over his body, left by the rough bricks of London. Without blood on his lips and the metal, wrapped over his fingers.</p>
<p>
  <em>Without Roth.</em>
</p>
<p>He sighs, standing up on the roof and pulling up the hood over the wet hair. Jacob knows that it will take him ten minutes to get to Maxwell’s house, ten minutes till he hears the familiar voice and all the worries of the day will go away just like that. He already knows the shortest route, he does not need a cab for this, he wants to feel every fucking step and jump of the way, he <em>needs</em> to feel it in his whole body.</p>
<p>“I missed you, Jacob, - Roth smiles and Jacob is willing to give the whole bloody world just to believe in the sincerity of this smile, - You see, the balcony door is always opened for you. Or the door. Whichever you prefer.”</p>
<p>Damn this man. Damn his voice, his smile, his lips, his hands that already know Jacob so damn well.</p>
<p>“On your knees, boy.”</p>
<p>Jacob Frye has never kneeled in front of anyone.</p>
<p>
  <em>For you? Yes.</em>
</p>
<p>* * *</p>
<p>It is almost morning when Jacob realizes that he can barely move. His body is sore, his breath is still shattered, his hands are still shaking. He wants to purr of satisfaction, but he is a damn grown man despite of what Roth calls him.</p>
<p>He is watching Maxwell moving around the room, unusually calm and peaceful, unlike his usual chaotic self when suddenly Jacob hears the familiar music. He heard it before, he knows what it is, he saw it the other day in one of the antique shops. Too expensive for him, too valuable, too unnecessary in his unstable life, too… fragile.</p>
<p>
  <em>Music box.</em>
</p>
<p>“You collect those, aren’t you? – Roth turns around, holding a small wooden box in hands, - My gift for you. No need in chasing stupid relics across the whole London when you have… powerful friends to take care of that.”</p>
<p>Jacob’s heart is beating faster and he is looking at Roth with disbelief. Soreness is forgotten, he jumps off the bed, not even wincing over the fresh wounds.</p>
<p>Impossible. And yet…</p>
<p>He opens the box carefully, stroking the delicate wooden cover. The tones that he has heard before are filling the spacious room, escaping through the open window and dissolving in the morning London fog. He still can not believe it, his hands are shaking and all the emotions are certainly scattered all over his face, just for the Roth to see every single shadow of them: the dance macabre of all the suppressed and unspoken feelings.</p>
<p>And Roth knows perfectly what he has done. His smile is not smug and even as good actor as he is he can not hide something that has no place in this room, in this world, in this reality that they share now.</p>
<p>
  <em>Why did you do it?</em>
</p>
<p>“Why not? – Maxwell laughs in the deafening silence, clearly happy of the effect that his gift has caused, - Made you happy, my dear, didn’t it?”</p>
<p>Jacob closes his eyes. </p>
<p>The music still rings in his ears. His cheeks are red, as if burnt by the invisible flames. He knows that when he leaves this room, he will never be the same again, leaving behind something incredibly important. Some part of him that he will never get back.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Cemeteries of London</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jacob realizes that he is in love with London the moment when the fist of a no-name Blighter meets his palm. Adrenaline rushes through his veins, the streets are filled with the loud screams and yells of random citizens. Jacob smiles, lifting the head up, breathing in deeply before the final strike and the first drops of the autumn rain fall on his cheeks. God is his witness, he loves this city.</p><p>For the first time in many years he feels absolutely free. No cages, no boundaries, nothing that would chain his spirit. <em>Nothing is true, everything is permitted. </em>He celebrates one of his first nights in the city with the bottle of cheap ale, right in the paws of a huge lion statue, in front of some kind of museum. The nearby pub is buzzing with the sounds of the nights, resonating with Jacob on some primal level. He finishes his ale, jumping off and entering the pub. The red jackets of the Blighters have the same effect on him as the red colour on the bull. Jacob laughs and cracks his knuckles.</p><p>- Oi! Having fun, lads?</p><p>Damn, he loves London.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Jacob did not quite catch the moment when he started seeking more and more of this city to offer him. Perhaps it was when Maxwell called him “the bravest man in London”. These words were still ringing in Jacob’s ears, when he was descending into the fighting pit.</p><p>
  <em>The bravest man in London.</em>
</p><p>He laughs, easily avoiding the heavy hits of the men twice his size and blocking all of their hits. His fist strikes through the air, meeting crackling ribs and inflicting terrible bruises. The smell of blood and sweat makes his head spin and he makes a deep inhale, avoiding the next hit almost playfully. This is not even a dance. This is a performance. And Jacob’s heart shivers in sudden pain of the realization for <em>whom </em>he was making this performance.</p><p>
  <em>The bravest man in London.</em>
</p><p>These words are scattered over the ground, mixed with the dirt and sand, they ring in Jacob’s ears and he makes a final blow, lifting his face up to meet the cold rain, feeling it washing off the blood and sweat. Jacob is shivering, the rush of victory, the cheering of the crowd and the sight of his opponents laying in the dirt of the pit is almost intoxicating. The desire to live right here and now is overwhelming. He won again. He won the fight in the Strand pit.</p><p>
  <em>The bravest man in London.</em>
</p><p>Jacob knows that this is insanely foolish, but some dark part of him wants Maxwell to see it. <em>To see him right fucking now</em>. To watch him. To be proud of him. To be concerned. To realize that the new king of the underground London is being born here and now, rising from the dirt of the fighting pits, surrounded by the coal dust and the bloodlust of the crowd.</p><p>Jacob shakes his head, wiping off the face with both palms and looking through cheering people, trying to suppress the poisoning disappointment of the fact that the only man he wanted to see was not there.</p><p>
  <em>The bravest man in London.</em>
</p><p>Oh, what he would not give to see Roth here.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Very soon Jacob realizes that even if at some point fighting pits were supposed to be a distraction for him, now they became quite the opposite. His fights became more common, to the point where Evie could not hide her concern and a disapproval even.</p><p>Jacob does not care.</p><p>He is the prince of the London streets, the new king even, cheered and adored. He is the bravest man in London. Yet every time he descends into the Strand fighting pit, he can’t help but to look around.</p><p>
  <em>Don’t allow personal feelings to compromise the mission.</em>
</p><p>Jacob inhales the cold air and takes off his shirt, throwing it away. He does not have personal feelings. He just wants Roth to see him as a threat, to know that very soon he will be replaced by someone who can not be stopped at this point. This is the natural order. This is how it’s supposed to be. Jacob just wants him to know… And he is also dying of the desire to see Maxwell once again.</p><p>The air is filled with the thick smell of blood once again, and Jacob already knows that this victory he’ll make for Roth. Even if he won’t see it.</p><p>* * *</p><p>This night is different. His muscles are sore, Jacob is barely standing on his feet, but he keeps fighting under the deafening sound of the screams and cheers. He is strong, he can do it, he knows he can. He does not even care that Westminster fighters are not to be trifled with.</p><p>Suddenly the familiar shadow falls on the wall and Jacob turns away, mesmerized by something he think he saw. It can’t be. He is clearly mistaken. The last hit was too hard, perhaps. </p><p>The distraction is enough for him to miss the next blow.</p><p>Air leaves his lungs and Jacob coughs, trying to recover quickly, but it’s too late, and his opponents are smart enough to realize that all the defenses are broken and this would be the perfect opportunity to strike. Which they do, inspired by something that have not happened in a while: the promise of Frye’s defeat.</p><p>Jacob gazes at the crowd desperately, only to meet the hollowness of the unfamiliar faces.</p><p>
  <em>He is not there. He really isn’t. Stop seeing what you want to see.  </em>
</p><p>The cacophony of emotions is tearing the crown apart, the heavy hits are breaking his body, and in this maddening sound Jacob can hear the beating of his own heart, he can feel it breaking into tiny pieces. Sweat and blood are streaming over his face and he falls on the ground, barely able to get up.</p><p>In the last effort of keeping his sanity Jacob lifts up his face, gazing in the crowd once again, bringing up the memory of the green eyes, looking at him with the admiration that Jacob has never experienced before.</p><p>
  <em>Look at me. I need you to look at me.  </em>
</p><p>But Jacob does not get up. He closes his eyes, falling on the back when the saving darkness is enveloping him. The crowd roars, but he does not hear it, getting lost in his own emotions and the bitter taste of defeat on the bloodied lips.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Jacob is in love with London. He loves the busy streets, people, his newly formed and growing gang, the unmistakable signs of life that was everywhere he looked. At this point he has so many places that became dear to him.</p><p>But the cathedral right by the entrance to Alhambra is still his favourite. He tells himself that this is simply because the view from the very top of this cathedral is gorgeous, but deep down he knows that this is not the reason. Just one of oh so many lies that he told himself in the past few days.</p><p>That night Jacob quietly leaves the train, sneaking out right after sunset. He has to be careful: the streets of Strand are filled with Blighters, the Rooks were nowhere near claiming that region. And so he manages to avoid big patrols, getting in the fight with them only once, disappearing right when he saw reinforcement.</p><p>The sound of stretched rope pierces the chilly air, and in a couple of seconds Jacob finds himself sitting right on the metal cross, looking at the Alhambra windows. He does not even know what he hopes to see there. He does not even know why he comes here. But the view is simply gorgeous and Jacob smiles, feeling that the adrenaline in his blood gives place to something else. The rare soothing sensation envelopes him and Jacob closes his eyes, lifting the head up to meet the first drops of rain over his face. </p><p>And at this moment Jacob already knows that tonight he will try to fight in the Westminster once more. </p><p>
  <em>Tonight is for you.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Stripped</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time Jacob came to Alhambra all bloodied and wounded, he did not know why exactly did he do this. He had a relatively safe hide-out, his sister surely could patch any wound in the world, and Henry could probably fetch most of the medicines that London had to offer.  Yet all Jacob could think about was making another mile without falling down. He could feel the blood soaking his jacket, but Jacob kept walking.</p>
<p>
  <em>One step. Two steps. Graveyard, park, turn left. Stairs here are slippery, be cautious.</em>
</p>
<p>He should have been more careful. Didn’t Evie warn him before?.. She did, they all did, and he should have listened. God, it seemed impossible. The initial pain was now replaced with numbness and Jacob leaned into the wall, holding the moan and leaving the bright red palm print on the dirty bricks. He needed to get there. He needed to make it to Alhambra. He needed to see Roth.</p>
<p>
  <em>Is this how it ends?</em>
</p>
<p>Jacob does not remember the rest of the way. He barely makes it to the back door of the theatre. It seems to him that he is screaming, trying to call for <em>someone</em>, anyone, but instead he is actually whispering. The loud knocks turn out to be barely audible. Jacob does not know how is he still alive, falling on the ground right before he hears the familiar voice.</p>
<p>“You foolish, reckless pup! Damn you, Jacob Frye!”</p>
<p>Jacob smiles. He opens his eyes, seeing Roth’s face, trying to focus on it. Everything seems to be crystal clear now – he just needed to see Roth right before it was all over. He breathes in deep, feeling the familiar scent of the man that he could barely call a friend yet. He shivers, trying to move, but the bloodied fingers only slide over Roth’s hand. And then it all turns black.</p>
<p>* * *</p>
<p>Jacob makes it out. He does not know how, he does not even care. It should have been a lesson to him, and it really was, probably not to the extent that his sister has hoped.</p>
<p>He comes to the Alhambra almost every night, counting bricks on the way, getting into the fights and making it out alive. His body is all bruised, blood stains cover his palms, but he is still breathing.</p>
<p>Roth never judges him, knowing that this violence is in his nature. <em>Their</em> nature. Instead, Maxwell fuels his rage and excitement by revealing the next plan of Starrick’s men and then soothes it with the sweet promises of adventure, that Jacob longs for.</p>
<p>It’s not like Jacob purposely trying to get himself hurt. It happens now and then, the bounty on his head is quite significant at this point and every single rat in this city is ready to risk everything to catch the leader of the Rooks dead or alive.</p>
<p>This night was not an exception.</p>
<p>Someone’s knife went right over his arm and now Jacob watches as his own blood is dripping on the wooden floor, standing right in front of Roth, desperately trying to find the reason for him to be here.</p>
<p>“Sit,” – says Maxwell, and the tone of his voice leaves no room for doubt – it is an order.</p>
<p>Jacob obeys, frowning as he stretches his arm, hissing as the wound was getting more attention.</p>
<p>“Just a scratch, really,” – he is not entirely convinced in this and it shows.</p>
<p>But Roth is already touching the gauntlet, carefully examining the mechanisms. His fingers slide over the fastenings and Jacob realized that he just… Can’t. Stop. Staring. The man is very dexterous - something to expect from the leader of Blighters, but still it is always a pleasant surprise to see him in action.</p>
<p>His fingers moved over the various belts, pulling them out very carefully, almost stroking bare arm right under the gauntlet. The traitorous groan slipped over Jacob’s lips and at this point he was not sure if it was the moan of pain or pleasure. Of course, it did not remain unnoticed. Roth was smirking, but his moves were now way slower, as if he wanted to prolongue this feeling, that Jacob did not quite know how to describe.</p>
<p>“Don’t move, boy” – Roth says, but Jacob is barely listening.</p>
<p>He turns away in a last attempt not to look at the belts, easily slipping through the holders. His heart beats faster at the thought that Roth is so close to the deadly blade. As if now they share something that was supposed to be private. Hidden. Intimate.</p>
<p>“Careful,” – Jacob wants to say, but his voice is hoarse.</p>
<p>“My dear, I’ve dealt with enough weapons, you should know this by now,” – Roth smiles, and his fingers slip over the bloodied blade sheath, almost caressing it, almost <em>daring</em> Jacob to move.</p>
<p>“Not like this one,” – Jacob shivers, suddenly feeling the caress even through the layers of leather and metal.</p>
<p>“No… Not like this one…” – Roth agrees, looking right at Jacob and for a second their eyes meet.</p>
<p>
  <em>Shit.</em>
</p>
<p>Quiet sigh falls of Jacob’s lips as he watches Roth’s hands move to his bare skin, pulling up the jacket sleeve and starting to remove the gauntlet, revealing the wound. It is painful, impossible to deny it. The rough material slides over the torn skin and muscles, leaving the trail of blood, but somehow the sudden sensation of pleasure pierces through Jacob’s body, as Maxwell’s hands touch his arm. Jacob growls, clenching fingers into the fist only for Roth to finally pull the gauntlet off his hand, removing it aside and quickly pulling closer the tray with clean bandages and some sort of liquid.</p>
<p>“Please…” – Jacob is looking at Maxwell almost with the unmistakable plea in his eyes. At this point he is not even sure if he is asking to be healed or to be ruined even further.</p>
<p>The smirk on Roth’s lips is almost smug, but Jacob does not care. The bastard obviously knows what is happening with Jacob, that’s why he is not even surprised to see Maxwell stepping closer and to feel the palm cupping his burning cheek.</p>
<p>
  <em>Please…</em>
</p>
<p>“Jacob, my dear. Always so impatient, aren’t you?’</p>
<p>His hand is burning all of a sudden, the distinct smell of alcohol makes Jacob almost lightheaded and he breathes in, leaning forward and grabbing onto Roth, watching him quickly wrapping the wounded arm with the clean cloth.  </p>
<p>Jacob slowly lifts up his head only to meet the gaze of green eyes, piercing through him. Openly triumphed, unapologetic gaze, with the hint of… tenderness.  </p>
<p>“You have no idea…” – he whispers, gathering the last bits of strength, but realizing that he has lost this fight with himself long time ago, probably the moment he stepped over the doorway to Alhambra.</p>
<p>Roth smiles, but his demeanour has slightly changed and Jacob already knows that nothing will be the same after this night. He stares at the gauntlet, the echo of dull pain still roaming over his body, when Maxwell touches him again, bringing his hand to the thin lips and Jacob feels the hot breath over his own knuckles.</p>
<p>“Then let me show you.”</p>
<p>As if in a dream Jacob feels Roth’s lips sliding over the bruised skin, caressing the scratched knuckles. Jacob cheeks are burning, his body is already craving of what’s about to come, and his eyes meet Maxwell’s gaze.</p>
<p>
  <em>Please.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Beautiful crime</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jacob smiles and walks to the opened window, breathing in the mist on the London night. He always turns around to look at Roth just before leaving, maybe to manage a joke or two, while keeping his voice as steady as possible. Jacob would rather die than admit that his hands are always shaking a bit when he readies the wire spool in his gauntlet.</p>
<p>“Right, well… This was a pleasure,” - Jacob smirks and almost bows, almost teasing, almost leaving the room at once.</p>
<p>“Jacob,” - the low voice interrupts him before he could say another word, - “You can stay if you want.”</p>
<p>And just like that Jacob’s heart rate increases ten, no, fifty, no, at least hundred times more. He lowers his hand, staring at Roth in the complete silence.</p>
<p>“Of course, not that this room could match the comfort of a train and not that you don’t have a choice…” - Roth gets up, moving aside the scattered sheets, walking forward, staring right into Jacob’s eyes, right into his damned soul and <em>oh</em> how he wants to stay here and now. More than anything else in the world. Just in this fucking moment. Just two of them. Just a bit longer.</p>
<p>“I <em>want</em> you to stay.”</p>
<p>Jacob would have never thought that the day will come, when he would be so eager to touch another human, another <em>man</em>. The gauntlet slips off his hand, he can’t even catch it and the needless wire is loose on the floor now, but his hands are already occupied - they are wandering all over Roth’s body, touching him again and greedily stroking the bare skin. Jacob does not understand how could he possibly manage to let this man go just a couple of minutes ago. Pure crime, that’s what it was. Only there is nothing pure about both of them. There never really was.</p>
<p>Words are always easy for Jacob, he never shies to speak his heart out, never fails to tease and provoke just for the sake of it. But now… now Jacob only nods, smiles, and clumsily tries to pull the heavy curtains over the window, once again covering him and Roth from the whole world.</p>
<p>“Keep the old man’s bed warm, will you? London nights are getting colder,” – Roth laughs, but the happiness in his voice cannot be concealed by jokes and confidence. Jacob smiles as their lips meet once again – it took them just a couple of weeks to learn each other so unbelievably well, and he takes a special pride in the newly acquired ability to see right through Maxwell’s bravado.</p>
<p>“You are not old,” – Jacob whispers, quickly unfastening his belts and buttons, - “You. Are. Not. Old…”</p>
<p>His clothes fall down with every single word, one by one. Jacob tries to hold the moans, but this is impossible. Maxwell’s palms are touching his chest now, caressing the familiar scars and fresh bruises, teasing the healed wounds that he patched last week right in that same room.</p>
<p>
  <em>Templars. Seven of them. Tough guys. I managed to kill them all.</em>
</p>
<p>Another touch, another moan. Sharp shoulder blades are all bruised and crisscrossed now. Must be quite a sight.</p>
<p>
  <em>Everything becomes a weapon in your hands, doesn’t it?</em>
</p>
<p>Roth’s hands are swift, his touch is precise. His fingers are now stroking Jacob’s sides, caressing the scars and reminding him of a terrible fight gone wrong, right in the Whitechapel borough.</p>
<p>
  <em>First night in London. Bloody hell. Who knew the lads would be fighting that dirty. I gave them a good lesson.</em>
</p>
<p>It’s only a matter of time when Jacob finds himself in the familiar bed. Not for the first time he realizes that with Roth it’s way easier and way faster to remove the clothes than to dress up.  </p>
<p>“Not old… Don’t even say such things,” – Jacob whispers frantically, catching Maxwell’s lips in a greedy kiss, shutting him up, as if trying to prevent him from talking further. He hears Roth laughing and sees the sharp stare of the green eyes right as the man’s hands slides over his crotch.</p>
<p>“Oh, Jacob, my dear. You see, time is non-existent when you are young. Consider it as another concept…”</p>
<p>Jacob wants to object, he really does, but the moan slips off his open lips as Roth hand slide lower, and oh, how he <em>longed</em> for that touch.</p>
<p>“Maxwell… Please…”</p>
<p>“Look at me. Look at me <em>now</em>, darling. God, you are so beautiful.”</p>
<p>And Jacob obeys.</p>
<p>But this time it’s different. Jacob can’t stop thinking of Roth’s invitation and what does it mean for both of them. Never before was he invited to stay at Alhambra. Never before he was willing to forget everything just for a glimpse of… what? The hope of the bright future? The ethereal promises? The expectations for something that he should not even dare to name?  </p>
<p>“Stay here tonight. Stay with me.”</p>
<p>Roth’s voice is sharp and quiet, and it burns Jacob’s neck, making him forget everything. Making him almost scream in the anticipation, making him smile, making him… happy.</p>
<p>Yes. Yes, he will stay tonight.</p>
<p>* * *</p>
<p>Jacob was always a light sleeper, and it does not even surprise him when he wakes up at sunrise, shifting and watching the first rays of sun lighting up the cobble streets. He turns on a side, watching Roth sleeping right by his side. The sheets are barely covering the man’s body, making the outlines of the surprisingly strong muscles quite distinct.</p>
<p>And Jacob just can’t stop staring.</p>
<p>The sight of Roth is almost mesmerizing. He looks so incredibly calm and peaceful – Jacob refuses to believe that this man is a stone cold killer, the best fighter in all of the London boroughs and the most smug bastard that Jacob has ever seen.</p>
<p>The unexpected tenderness scares him more than the sight of the Templar’s reinforcement, more than a gun pointed right into his face, and he has seen those quite a few times already. Jacob desperately tries to chase this feeling away, knowing how dangerous those thoughts are, but it only grows stronger.</p>
<p>It is another lost battle with himself, added to the list of many.  </p>
<p>Jacob swears, falls back on the pillow and covers his face with the palms, staying still for a couple of seconds. The odd sensation of the painful tenderness did not go away, but instead of a rising panic Jacob feels almost content. He turns aside once again, allowing himself to look at Roth.</p>
<p>Jacob does not want to wake him up - God knows, the man deserved some sleep, but he just can’t help it.</p>
<p>He leans forward, touching Roth as gently as he only could. Jacob suspects that his hands are rough: they inflict death and pain upon touch, they are a weapon of some sort, they can’t even be tender. But wasn’t this a deal between them? A very fine balance of life and death, of recklessness and trust, of pain and pleasure – all mixed together in a most grave and unexpected union.</p>
<p>Jacob realizes that he is shivering when his lips are tracing over Roth’s naked back and shoulders, touching his every scar, soothing the phantom pain and chasing away the shadows that haunted both of them for so damn long. They’ve kissed many times before, they touched each other countless of times, but this is something else, this was different from everything else they’ve done so far.</p>
<p>Jacob’s fingers freeze over Maxwell’s face, not daring to touch his scar and risking waking him up. Instead, he rubs against his lover with the cheek, as careful as he only could. His touches are almost, <em>almost</em> possessive and Jacob’s heart cowering in the anticipation of the inevitable moment when he’ll have to leave this room.</p>
<p>“My dear boy… You must be <em>very </em>careful, otherwise I might get used to this.”</p>
<p>Jacob smiles, trying to hide it. Of course Roth would wake up. The bastard has probably been awake for a while now. Just enough to see and to feel every hint of a touch. Enough to hear every single beat of Jacob’s heart, shattering to pieces.  </p>
<p>“You should have told me you are awake,”</p>
<p>“And miss the chance of being awakened in such an… unaccustomed manner? Absolutely not, darling. I intend to fully exploit it. Who would have thought that the fearsome Jacob Frye purrs in my bed?”</p>
<p>“Oi, shut up!”</p>
<p>And Jacob laughs happily, hiding it in the gentle kiss. Oh, how he wants to stay in this moment. Oh, how he needs to remember every single second of it.  </p>
<p>He breathes in deeply, watching Roth and catching his gaze. Unsurprised, Jacob sees that there is a deep understanding between both of them and the almost painful realization of what has been happening.</p>
<p>
  <em>More. I need more. I need to remember this.</em>
</p>
<p>“Please, Maxwell, let me…” – at this moment Jacob does not even recognize his voice.</p>
<p>The moment Jacob slowly closes his eyes, the world around him stops. His every sense is sharper now, he feels everything twice as much. He is, after all, an Assassin – the lack of sight can be crucial, but it allows him to experience the world around him on a whole new level. And oh, <em>what a world it is.</em></p>
<p>Jacob can now hear Maxwell’s breath – hoarse and ragged. He can feel his heartbeat – fast and restless. He can even sense the streams of blood, pulsating through the veins and filled with <em>life</em>. He can almost see Roth, but this is even better – every sound and every sensation is so incredibly distinct that Jacob moans, biting his lips and trying to concentrate on the other man’s body instead of his own reactions.</p>
<p>“Jacob…”</p>
<p>The kaleidoscope of emotions and senses swirls in front of his closed eyes. This is already overwhelming, but Jacob does not stop, instead taking this to a new level. He leans forward, touching Maxwell’s neck with the dried lips, breathing in his scent and covering his chest with the palm. Jacob is desperately trying to catch the slightest change within the Roth’s heartbeat, as if this would give him the answer to the question he would never dare to ponder. Not because he is afraid, Jacob Frye is never afraid, but because it would mean that his life will never be the same again. <em>Their </em>lives.</p>
<p>Jacob’s head is already spinning, but he keeps his eyes shut. The next second he feels Roth’s hand slipping right into his palm, grabbing it immediately, just so to hold himself over the edge.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” – he whispers barely audible, feeling their fingers getting interlaced.</p>
<p>This is different from anything that Jacob has ever experienced. At some point he is worried that he won’t be able to stop, but soon this whirlwind of emotions calms down, leaving Jacob lightheaded and… complete.</p>
<p>Finally Jacob leans back, breathing faster now, slowly opening his eyes and immediately catching Maxwell’s stare. He should probably explain what just happened, or at the very least say something. Anything. Instead, Jacob keeps holding Roth’s hand, feeling the blush creeping over his cheeks.</p>
<p>“Ah yes, the risky business of shagging an Assassin. See, we are a special bunch. You never know what can-” – Jacob manages a smile, but Roth is already kissing him – greedily, desperately, recklessly. He can now see the open fire in the green eyes of his lover and it resonates with him at once.</p>
<p>Jacob can still feel the aftershocks of that experience, when Roth’s palms move over his face and his fingers are tracing the visible lines of Jacob’s scars.</p>
<p>“I should have asked you to stay overnight long time ago, Jacob Frye,”</p>
<p>“And I would not be opposed to that,”</p>
<p>“Would you now? I was quite sure that you’d leave,”</p>
<p>“Well… You definitely would have to ask me nicely. And then I would probably consider…”</p>
<p>Jacob’s heart makes a leap when he hears Roth laughing.</p>
<p>He watches Maxwell carefully, now being able to correlate his emotions to the way they felt just a minute before. Each smile now corresponds with a certain beat of his heart. Each frown is followed by the thumping sound of the pulsing veins. Each shiver matches the ragged breath. This is something that he could never forget, Jacob already knows it. But the next moment he could feel his own lips parting, almost letting out something that should not have place in their lives. Jacob gets up almost immediately, walking to the window and slowly moving the curtains apart, watching London waking up.</p>
<p>“Something’s the matter, my dear?”</p>
<p>Roth’s voice is calm, but Jacob knows that on some level he also feels that unspoken and terrifying truth, that was now almost tangible.</p>
<p>“I have to go,”</p>
<p>“I know. I am not holding you back.”</p>
<p>He watches as Roth is getting up, openly admiring his lover’s body. It takes Jacob just a couple of minutes to collect the clothes, scattered all over the floor, pick up the dropped gauntlet and to manage a more or less decent exterior.</p>
<p>“How do I look?”</p>
<p>“Like the most risky shag in the whole London.”</p>
<p>And Jacob laughs, immediately feeling all his fears and doubts fading away just like that. He opens the window, quickly checking the spool mechanism and looking outside. Morning London greets Jacob with the dim autumn light, piercing through the dissipating fog, and with the distinct smell of chimney smoke.</p>
<p>“Do keep the window open, will you?”</p>
<p>“For you? Always, my dear.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Count bodies like sheep</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is almost quiet when Jacob walks through the night that surrounds London. The sound of firm steps over the cobblestone breaks the silence and holding the springs of his excitement all coiled up. He saw this city from above, he was an invisible witness to its secrets, he could run its roofs with the eyes closed, but now it was the time to face London from beneath. Jacob breathes in fully, watching the bright moon over the roofs, and touching his brass knuckles with the bare fingertips. The hood falls down and Jacob smirks into the darkness – tonight he is <em>just</em> Jacob Frye and he will claim this city once and for all.</p><p>He can already feel it – the growing sound of panic and disarray in the distance, the scent of fear and rage. But there was nothing that could stop him at this point. Strand was the last borough to claim, the Rooks were getting ready for this night and Jacob knew that he would not let them down.</p><p>The streets around him are slowly getting alive, and Jacob senses every single movement, sees every shadow, he even feels the vibration of the cobblestone. He stops for only a second and steps on the white armband with the bright red symbol on it, denting it into the dirt.</p><p>Jacob sees the light of torches as he keeps on walking forward, finally leaving the shadows behind, finally seeing his targets in the distance, finally ready to strike. The crowd of templars ahead is growing, it’s easy enough to notice them, but Jacob is not scared at the slightest. His smile is almost devilish, his hands are steady, and the beating of his heart matches the sound of his steps.</p><p>
  <em>Ten.</em>
</p><p><em>-</em> Isn’t that a Frye boy? Heard you’d be coming to play tonight. Should have brought your sister, I bet she is more fun. I heard that she-</p><p>The laughs in the distance are getting louder as Jacob walks forward, parting the live corridor of men and striking without any delay, not letting the templar finish the sentence and quickly cutting his throat.</p><p>
  <em>Nine.</em>
</p><p>The lifeless body falls on the road in a complete silence. First blood is now flowing over the stone, colouring it crimson red and dissolving into the dirt.</p><p>- I don’t think you quite understand, lads. The price for talking out loud just got raised. And I doubt any of you could afford it.</p><p>The silence around him is almost deafening.</p><p>
  <em>Eight.</em>
</p><p>The first hit is very much expected and Jacob dodges it, piercing the blade into the templar’s chest, quickly getting ready for the second strike, which follows almost immediately.</p><p>Jacob laughs as the next attempt to kill him fails miserably. The crowd of templars is getting bigger, but he moves through it graciously, striking with the absolute precision, seeing the blood dripping off his blade. The red trail follows Jacob further, deeper, it’s getting wider, it is covering his tracks and leaving absolutely no doubts in his intentions.</p><p>
  <em>Seven.</em>
</p><p>His Rooks appear as if from nowhere, surrounding the Blighters. They run through empty streets and alleys, blocking all of the exits and sparing none of the templars, and the growing sound of his personal army is one of the best sounds that Jacob has ever heard in his life.</p><p>
  <em>Six.</em>
</p><p>Jacob’s hands are soaked with someone else’s blood. Blood covers his jacket, drips off his face, getting mixed with sweat and soot. His head is spinning of this endless agitation, adrenaline kicks in and Jacob moves even faster, screaming with rage and some kind of euphoria, cutting through the crowd of templars on his way.</p><p>No one can match him. No one can stop him. And no one can survive his blade.</p><p>
  <em>Five.</em>
</p><p>Jacob breathes in, looking around almost hazily through the eyelashes. Pile of bodies surround him, and he walks forward, stepping over the dead templars. The air is filled with the smell of gunpowder, smoke and explosives. Jacob already knows that London will never forget this night. It will stay on the streets of this city as another scar, cutting right through the middle of it and reminding the people of the newly crowned king of the streets. <em>Oh, the stuff of legends.</em></p><p>
  <em>Four.</em>
</p><p>The bright lights of Alhambra are getting closer and Jacob’s heart beats in the anticipation. Isn’t this why he is here? Isn’t this his final destination?</p><p>- You just wait…</p><p>The whispers slips off Jacob’s lips, and he licks them immediately, feeling the unmistakable taste of blood.  </p><p>
  <em>Three.</em>
</p><p>He finally walks to Alhambra, raising up his head and seeing the familiar silhouette in one of the windows. Roth…</p><p>
  <em>Two.</em>
</p><p>Jacob wants to run. Everything inside him beats in the burning excitement and a painful longing. The drums of war are almost deafening and Jacob knows that he needs to finish it here and now.</p><p>
  <em>Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>One.</em>
</p><p>No one stops him when he enters the theatre and walks right to the open scene. The theatre is quiet, unlike the London streets, and almost none of the chaos that he has caused made its way into the gloomy halls of Alhambra. The darkness parts as Jacob walks forward, stepping through the heavy curtains and letting the chaos in with him.</p><p>And there he was.</p><p>Maxwell Roth was sitting on some sort of throne, surrounded by the flickering candlelight, holding the goblet in his hand. His thin fingers were running over the heavy metal cup, stroking the intricate ornament. He seemed to not even pay attention what was happening around, but Jacob realized that it was just an illusion – Roth saw everything what happened. He <em>knew</em>.</p><p>- And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?</p><p>The hoarse voice echoes in the empty hall, making Jacob stop just for a second. He knows these lines, he has heard them before. Jacob smirks, touching the gauntlet and unsheathing the hidden blade, still stained with templar’s blood.  </p><p>- And not just one, - he shows off the blade, openly bragging, - You know, there are better weapons than the… vorpal sword if you ask me.</p><p>Jacob watches as Roth laughs out loud and raises his goblet before making a sip.</p><p>- Darling. I have never doubted your intelligence.</p><p>The power balance between them shifts before Jacob could even notice it. Each step brings him closer to Roth, and each step makes him lose the unspoken sense of control. The invisible strings are getting loose one by one - Jacob can feel them slipping through his fingers, dissolving into the shadows, burning in the dim light. It should make him panic – but it does not. He steps closer, now walking right to the scene, openly staring at Roth. Daring. Provoking.  </p><p>- I have just killed the last ones of your gang. Shouldn’t you be worried at the very least?</p><p>At this point Jacob does not even recognize his own voice. He is almost shaking when he walks to the dark throne, eagerly stepping into the shadows that surrounded Roth and watching the man from below, breathing in deeply, desperately trying to calm himself down. Jacob knows that he exists on a sheer adrenaline now. He is a match that needs a single sparkle. A bullet that is ready to be shot. A last drop of blood that balances the scales of life and death.  </p><p>- Not at the slightest, my dear. I always knew who you were. In fact… I <em>welcomed</em> you. I always will.  </p><p>Roth stands up, stepping to the edge of the scene and suddenly Jacob feels the cold hand on his cheek: delicate fingers are stroking his face, while gently removing the dried blood and smearing the dirt over. Their eyes meet and Jacob’s heart stops beating for a second. The tension is getting unbearable at this point, and just like that Jacob realizes that all his remaining confidence dissipates with a single touch, giving way to something unknown, something that he was terrified to even think about.</p><p>And Jacob succumbs.</p><p>With the quiet sigh he leans into Roth’s hand, allowing the touch, ready to accept whatever happens next, diving into the abyss, just like he did earlier on the streets of London. Roth’s fingers are stroking his temple, his cheek, they run down to Jacob’s lips, opening them oh so slightly, and Jacob tries his best to hold the needy moan, as he feeling the familiar taste of iron that was now somehow getting mixed with the taste of wine. He can’t even look away, getting completely lost in the gaze of the cold green eyes, staring back at him.</p><p>Roth’s fingers are now stroking his hair, letting the messy strands slide over this palm. The grip of his fist is getting tighter, but Jacob does not care. In fact, he welcomes it.</p><p>- My dear boy. So much I want to show you…</p><p>It is almost a ritual, some sort of a dark and twisted baptism, but Jacob is barely able to process this realization. Instead he is pressing his lips right to the Roth’s palm, gently sliding them down to his wrist just so he could feel the other man’s pulse, desperately wishing it to match his own.</p><p>- Come with me. Tonight we celebrate. </p><p>
  <em>And it does match.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before. - Edgar Allan Poe "The Raven"</p><p> And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? - Lewis Carroll "Jabberwocky"</p><p>Vorpal sword - reference to the same poem, "Jabberwocky".</p><p>It has been written after the events of Syndicate, in 1871, but for the narrative purposes I am overlooking it. Mhm.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. A matter of survival</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jacob wakes up, staring at the ceiling of a train compartment, watching the rare lights casting off eerie shadows. They creep off the ceiling, sliding over the walls, dissolving into the soothing sound of the moving train. Jacob closes his eyes and stretches the hand to the table by the sofa – he should have left a bottle of ale there.</p><p>Jacob is not superstitious, never has been. Chasing stories, fairy tales, ancient relics, ghosts even – that was always Evie’s prerogative. He tried to stay away from it, always seeking for a rational explanation of whatever seemed to be out of the ordinary. They lived in a time of another miracle, which could hardly even be called one – future. Inventions and progress. It was the time to leave all the old stories right where they belonged: back in Crawley, hidden under his old bed, lurking in the empty streets, collecting dust on the endless shelves of the assassin’s libraries. This was definitely under Jacob’s control. The past was the past, he left Crawley some time ago and never even regretted of this decision.</p><p>However, annoyingly enough, dreams stayed out of his control and Jacob was not sure how to deal with them.</p><p>Jacob sighs, pulling out the wooden cork and finishing the cheap ale in a matter of seconds. He gives alcohol a couple of minutes to work and if he is lucky enough, the cheap swill might even make him dizzy again. It does not, and Jacob gets up, slowly walking to the bar compartment to get some more.</p><p>Jacob grabs the bottle of some Irish whiskey, making a quick sip. He now stares at the window, seeing familiar houses, recognizing the area from afar. Southwark. That’s gonna be his stop for tonight.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Jacob still sees the remnants of his dream, when quickly making his way to the bank of Thames and climbing to the roof of the empty house. He can almost feel the gauntlet slipping off his hand, negating his hit in that dream. He can see the bullet piercing the body of the innocent. He can feel the promise of a terror running through his veins when his knife is missing the initial target, instead bringing death to some random stranger. Many little moments that are weaved into one big shroud. Many small sacrifices that are covered by a vision of a big picture. Many insignificant lies that are turned into the big justification.</p><p>Jacob shivers and makes a sip, wrinkling of the sharp whisky smell.</p><p>Familiar shadows from his dream are now filling the cold fog of London night, they walk its streets, they all face Jacob now, still staying away, not daring to break the thin veil between madness and sanity.</p><p>
  <em>Not yet, boy.</em>
</p><p>The sounds of waves, the commotion of busy docks, the cries of seagulls and the ring of bells from across the river bring Jacob to reality.</p><p>- Can’t get me here. Those are the rules.</p><p>
  <em>But aren’t rules meant to be broken?..</em>
</p><p>Jacob almost growls, making a sip after sip. Deprived of possible elegance and a mandatory addition to his usual night out with the Rooks, the alcohol serves its primary purpose and Jacob realizes that the voices in his head are getting quitter. The viscous embrace of the dream is weakened and Jacob slips away from its cold grasp once again. Alive. Unscathed. Defeated.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Jacob comes back to the train only by night. They made a stop somewhere by the posh district of London, he can see it by the amount of light that illuminates the streets, revealing almost every dark corner. Jacob gets on the roof of their train, watching the crowds of fancily dressed people walking under the bridge. He stares at the distance and he can almost, <em>almost</em> see the columns of Alhambra. The realization that something is constant in this ever-changing new world around him is quite comforting.</p><p>Jacob smiles, imagining Roth walking over the stage, talking, smiling, doing anything, really - it never mattered since for some reason Jacob could barely take his eyes off the man. Roth was… captivating.</p><p>The train starts moving, leaving the temporary respite. Jacob falls back, watching the night sky, barely seeing the stars. Aren’t they used to be brighter in Crawley?..</p><p>- Ah, screw it.</p><p>Jacob gets up and throwing the bottle away, quickly readying the gauntlet and hearing the sound of wire, jumping off the train into the welcoming embrace of the night.</p><p>It was that simple, really: every time he had business with Roth, every time he left Alhambra, every time he noticed the sharp gaze of green eyes, the shadows seemed to step away and the nightmares seemed to leave him be. At least for a night or two.</p><p>Jacob quickly jumps over the roofs, feeling his heart beating faster when he sees the bright lights of Alhambra theatre ahead of him.</p><p>It’s just a simple matter of survival, nothing more.</p><p>* * *</p><p>This day was different.</p><p>Everything was wrong and Jacob was too late to fix it, he already knows it.</p><p>He knows it when he runs between cheap Whitechapel houses. He knows it when he smells the smoke in the air. He knows it when he runs through the terrified crowd, pushing people aside.</p><p>- Move! Move away!</p><p>Screams are filling the air and Jacob barely has time to jump away, when the roaring flames are breaking the window of the nearest house, almost catching up with him. Jacob keeps running, trying to reload a gun and to concentrate on the screams the same time. He coughs, covering the face with the palm, getting away from the smoke and finally hearing the voices getting closer.</p><p>
  <em>Hold on, hold on, I am almost there… I got you.</em>
</p><p>Jacob runs like he never runs before. He has dropped two bullets, but what does it matter if he is an excellent shot, perhaps one of the <em>best </em>in…</p><p>- Please! I have a son!</p><p>…London.</p><p>Flames are rising behind the crowd of templars and a pile of lifeless bodies, fire is glowing in the deadly reflections of daggers, blazes are getting more prominent. Jacob sees the woman on her knees and notices the templars blade right by her throat.</p><p>- Sir… Please, I beg of you, do something!</p><p>Their eyes meet for a split second and Jacob does not even have time to say anything before his finger slips over the trigger, pulling it immediately.  </p><p>The body of a woman falls on the cobblestone and her blood is dripping from the templar’s blade.</p><p>- You missed, boy.</p><p>The templar smirks and whistles, stepping over the lifeless body, before Jacob rushes in to wipe that smirk off his face. He now exists on the pure instincts, fighting fearlessly, adding more wrath and havoc to the roaring fire around them.</p><p>One dead, two dead, three dead. Others disappeared in the smokes.</p><p>Three lives, only three lives claimed by Jacob for many more that were taken today. Only three fucking lives and many more shadows, chasing him while he sleeps. Not even close to being fair.  </p><p>Jacob coughs and runs to the body of the woman, already knowing that it is too late.</p><p>- Shit.</p><p>He touches her face, closing the wide opened eyes, shivering of the visible expression of fear and surprise.</p><p>- I am sorry.</p><p>The building behind him starts to crumble, spreading the flames all around and Jacob runs away, desperately searching for the clean path, stumbling upon rubble and getting lost in the smokes. The sound of a missing shot still haunts him and Jacob shivers in the anticipation of another sleepless night. He barely sees anything around him, does not notice the clear path, but he knows that he has to make it out. He’ll think of everything that happened later, but now he just <em>has to</em> make one more step and make it out alive.</p><p>
  <em>Not today… Not today.</em>
</p><p>* * *</p><p>Every time Jacob tries to close his eyes this night, he sees the gaze of that woman in the burning Whitechapel. Flames are consuming everything around them, the street is filling in with shadows, they are getting more visible, they materialize out of dust and smoke, they now have faces of those who Jacob could not save.</p><p><em>Everyone</em> <em>who he has killed.</em></p><p>Jacob shudders, digging the fingers in the pillow. He wants to scream, but this hideout has never offered any privacy and Jacob does not like the idea of waking up his sister. He breathes in, standing up and coming to the window, watching the bright moonlight spreading over London.</p><p>There is only place left where he can go tonight. Where he <em>wants</em> to be tonight. Just a simple matter of survival, isn’t it?..</p><p>* * *</p><p>By the time Jacob makes it to Alhambra, his body is so tensed, that he can feel every single stumble and every single jump with his every muscle. The pall of rage is making Jacob faster at the cost of his strength, but it barely matteres now.</p><p>Jacob has never used a window to come in here, even though he noticed that since some time Roth was keeping a certain window in Alhambra opened. It seemed way too private despite the fact that Jacob barely accepted anyone else’s boundaries, always trying to establish them on his own terms. Locks meant to be broken. Doors meant to be opened.</p><p>Jacob comes in through the opened window unannounced, seeing Roth sitting in the bright red chair with the book. The fear and the desperation that was haunting Jacob all the way here are scattering away, giving way to something different. But it’s impossible to get rid of them completely, and it shows. He watches as Roth puts the book away, walking to the table and pouring some whiskey into the glasses, giving one to Jacob almost immediately.</p><p>- Forgive me being so blatant, but it looks like you need one.  </p><p>Roth does not ask questions and Jacob appreciates that, he always does. But tonight is different.</p><p>- When was the last time you slept, Jacob?</p><p>Jacob does not answer. He makes two big sips, finishing the glass at once and pouring more in the complete silence.</p><p>- You did not answer.</p><p>- Does it matter?</p><p>- Well… Darling, you look like you are about to collapse right on my carpet and before we do something about that, I would be thrilled to know if it’s because of the lack of sleep, a deadly wound that I have not noticed yet, or perhaps something else that is worth sharing in the middle of the night. So what would it be?</p><p>Roth’s voice is hoarse, soothing, calm. It fills Jacob with some kind of excitement, but his rage and frustration are still seeking for an exit, and he screams, throwing the empty glass into the wall.</p><p>- She TRUSTED me!</p><p>Jacob yells again and smashes the empty bottle against the floor, shattering it to many pieces. Even now the sounds seems to be not enough at the slightest, so he screams even louder, kicking the table and flipping it over.</p><p>- She looked me in the eyes, she saw me, she fucking SAW me! She KNEW I will protect her! That… that glimpse of hope, that fucking sparkle in their eyes before they die, you know it too, don’t you?! That… that moment between life and death, that moment of bloody realization that this is over!</p><p>Jacob roars, kicking the fallen table once again, walking over the pieces of broken glass, making them crumble under his boot. Tears that he was holding all day are finally streaming over his face, falling off the burning cheeks, but he does not even notice it, stepping closer to Maxwell.</p><p>- She saw me… Do you understand it?! She. Saw. Me. Just like this. I gave her hope and then I fucking failed her!</p><p>Jacob looks at his shaking hands as if he could still see someone else’s blood over his palms. He still stares at them when he feels Roth moving closer and a second later he realizes that the man’s fingers are now stroking his open palms. Jacob breathes in, touching Roth’s hands and letting their fingers intervene without even having second thoughts.</p><p>- Look at me. Look at me, Jacob.</p><p>The familiar voice brings him back to reality. He should not be so scared, he should not even be worried. Roth will not judge him, Roth will not be repelled by the heavy stench of death, Roth will not look at him as if he is the monster. And most importantly, he will not take pity. After all, they are so much alike… Aren’t they?..</p><p>Jacob finally lifts his head up only to see the understanding stare of the piercing green eyes.</p><p>- You don’t need pity from me, do you? Some sort of… redemption, perhaps?</p><p>- For God’s sake, no.</p><p>- Good. Because I am not going to offer it.</p><p>And then Jacob feels the world around his stops as Maxwell pulls him closer and embraces him, holding him so close, that Jacob is barely able to breath, barely able to think of what was happening. It seemed so incredibly natural to lean into Roth’s body, that for a second Jacob gets scared. But the fear is quickly replaced by the sensation of an assurance, security even. Jacob feels his lips partying, not even trying to suppress the loud cry, grabbing onto Roth’s jacket and pulling him even closer, as if trying to wrap himself into the warmth and scent of another human who was right by his side, sharing this moment with him. Someone, who understood who they were. Someone, who knew what they sacrificed along the way. Someone, who knew that there are hundreds more of sacrifices to come.</p><p>Jacob is almost falling, but Roth’s hands are holding him tight and when Jacob falls on his knees, he can feel the other man still being close and not letting him go.</p><p>
  <em>Please don’t leave. Don’t ever fucking leave.</em>
</p><p>- I know… I know, Jacob. I really do. I wish I could ease your burden, my dear. Take it upon myself. Does not make a difference when you have thousand more to carry. One more, one less, what does it matter. You see, the truth is… soon you will forget their faces. I promise you will. </p><p>Jacob can hear Maxwell’s quick and calming whispers, he can feel gentle hand running through his hair, and oh how incredibly soothing it is. This is not about the caress or pity, but more of an… acceptance. Silent promise. Jacob is quiet now, still grabbing onto Roth’s shirt, breathing slower. He looks around, staring into the dark corners and watching the shadows fading away in the darkness, leaving just the two of them in the middle of the room.</p><p>- Thank you…</p><p>Jacob whispers barely audible, now looking back at Roth, being as close to the man as he never was before. As if in some kind of trance, he suddenly leans forward, letting his lips slide over Roth’s cheek, touching his scar.</p><p>
  <em>There. Now you’ve shared something with me as well.</em>
</p><p>Jacob can feel Roth getting tensed for a split second before turning the head just so slightly, matching the touch of his, Jacob’s, lips, <em>allowing</em> this to happen. Jacob could feel his hands sliding over his back, nails digging into the scarred flesh - not so gentle reminder that both of them are still alive, both of them are still here and both of them are ready to accept what they are in this very moment. Jacob feels that his cheeks are still wet, but Roth removes the tears with the gentle swipe of his hand.</p><p>- All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage.</p><p>The quite whisper burns Jacob’s neck and he swallows the silent tears, slowly relaxing in the other man’s embrace. He knows that at some point one of them has to break the touch, has to make this step towards the <em>past </em>where nothing has happened between them and perhaps never remember this night again. But Jacob does not want to forget.</p><p>He gets up, looking around at the damage he has done.</p><p>- You were right. I have not slept in a while.</p><p>- I figured as much.</p><p>Jacob remembers all the days that he spent in Roth’s company. They are flashing in his memory like a kaleidoscope of some sort, the pieces are always changing, always brining some new emotions, always making his heart beat faster, always leaving him craving for more.</p><p>- May I stay here tonight?</p><p>These words slip off Jacob’s lips before he can stop himself. He turns and his heart skips a beat when he sees Roth smile and nod.</p><p>- Yes. Yes, of course. Can’t let you out without a proper rest. I’d be a terrible host. And I don’t like to be a terrible host.  </p><p>And just like that Jacob notices the familiar shadows that were creeping in the corners dissolve into darkness. He smiles when taking off his coat, already knowing that tonight he will sleep without any nightmares.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage. - this is the quote from BBC "Sherlock", Mycroft said these words in season 2, I think.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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